


Damned if You Do

by Black_Tea_and_Bones



Category: Warrior Nun (TV)
Genre: F/F, Hurt/Comfort, Love Confessions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-19
Updated: 2020-08-19
Packaged: 2021-03-06 07:01:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25989400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Black_Tea_and_Bones/pseuds/Black_Tea_and_Bones
Summary: Loosely Based on these two promptsPrompt 1:Beatrice is injured during a mission but hides how bad her wound actually is to make sure she doesn’t distract her team and the mission is completed at all cost. Ava sensed something is wrong but as usual can’t argue with Bea’s logic. Cue some kind of dramatic reveal (blood stain, Bea collapsed, you name it) which then forces Ava and Bea to talk and Ava gets to care for Bea for once.Prompt 2:Bea is hurt/sick but  hides it so they can complete a mission. It makes it way worse and  eventually the group finds out, preferably by dramatic reveal (like  collapsing or something). Ava panics and maybe even blames herself and  they have to talk. The group reminds bea that she has worth outside of  like her training and fighting abilities and that they care about her.
Relationships: Sister Beatrice/Ava Silva
Comments: 27
Kudos: 521





	Damned if You Do

**Author's Note:**

> So this is me falling head over heels for Warrior Nun and Avatrice. I have a longer fic percolating in my brain, but this was a fun way to jump in and start to get to know their voices. :) 
> 
> It's un-betaed, so feel free to yell at me in the comments if I messed something up.

“You're a damn fool.”

“I know...”

“No. You don't know. If you knew- _”_ Mary snaps, pulling the thread tight and tying off another stitch, “you wouldn't have done what you did, and Ava here wouldn't be trying to keep your blood inside your fool body where it belongs instead of letting it spill out all over the floor while I try to put you back together. If you _knew,_ ” she adds, jabbing the needle in again and ignoring Beatrice's wince, “you would have stayed at your post instead of swooping in like prince-fucking-charming and getting yourself impaled!”

“Language,” Beatrice chides weakly.

“Language?” Mary scoffs rolling her eyes over Beatrice's shoulder at Ava. “ _Language_ , she says to me, after scaring the shit out of everybody for no _goddamned reason_.”

Beatrice sighs. “Ava-”

“Ava was _fine!”_ Mary cuts her off. “Weren't you Ava?”

“ _Oh,_ no. I'm staying out of this.” Ava would have raised her hands in surrender, but she has one arm wrapped around Beatrice; holding her up while Mary works to close the gaping hole in her side, and the other hand pressing a blood-soaked wad of fabric that had once been one of her sleeves over the exit wound in her back. They'd lost precious minutes once they'd made it home to the safe house and gotten Beatrice into her bed, peeling off her armour and cutting her out of her habit, leaving her in only the bra and loose pants she wore under her skirt (Ava is holding her _respectfully_ okay?) and she hadn't been able to bear to let go of her any longer than necessary throughout.

Luckily, Mary had been too pissed to comment on her handsiness, though Ava knew she'd noticed.

“Coward,” (fair, but _hey!)_ Mary mutters, snipping the last thread. “Okay, let's do the other side, then we'll wrap her up and leave her to think about what she did.”

Instead of moving Beatrice, Ava switches places with Mary so that Beatrice can lean forward into her shoulder while Mary stitches up her back. It's not perfect, but they don't want to lay her down until they're done, or they'll just have to sit her up again to bandage everything, and according to Mary, the less she's moved the better.

Ava isn't complaining, and Beatrice doesn't seem to be in any hurry to let go of her either, clutching the front of Ava's shirt in white knuckled fists while Mary peels the bloody fabric loose and douses the wound with antiseptic. Beatrice hisses through her teeth, a whimper catching in the back of her throat.

“Talk to me,” she breathes.

“Uh...” Ava instantly forgets all words ever. “About what?”

“Anything.”

“Okay, um... “ words, words, words... “How does Moses make his coffee?”

“How?”

“He _brews_ it.”

Beatrice snorts into Ava's chest.

“You're right,” Ava agrees. “That one was terrible. How about... What’s a missionary’s favorite kind of car?”

“ _She_ gets a sword through the gut, and _I'm_ the one being tortured,” Mary mutters under her breath, (because she's a jerk who hates fun.)

“A _convertible.”_

That one actually gets a chuckle out of Beatrice, her shoulders shaking in the circle of Ava's arms.

“Hold still, or you're going to have more than one hole in your gut!” Mary grumbles, but Ava can see the hint of a smirk at the corner of her mouth. (busted!) She's almost done, the flow of blood slowing to a trickle as she pulls the ragged edges of the wound together.

One more. “How long did Cain hate his brother?” She pauses for dramatic effect. “As long as he was _Abel._ ”

“I take it back,” Beatrice groans. “No more talking.”

Ava gasps in mock affront. “I'm hilarious! You don't know what you're missing.”

“We'll take our chances,” Mary answers for both of them. “There.” She sits back, wiping the sweat off her forehead with a bloody hand. “You're all done. I'll send Camilla in with some of the good drugs while Ava gets you cleaned up, then we can all get together and talk about how much trouble you're in.”

“When did we _stop_ talking about it?” Beatrice sighs. “I can do that,” she adds when Ava reaches for the bowl of warm water and rags Camilla had left with them before fleeing Mary's wrath. “I'm not a complete invalid.”

“You were _literally_ just impaled,” Ava says, holding the bowl out of her reach. “I think you can let someone else take care of you for five minutes.”

Beatrice frowns, but she doesn't protest when Ava sets the bowl down beside them on the bed and wrings out one of the rags. Ava holds out a hand and Beatrice reluctantly offers one of her own. Ava takes it reminding herself that this is _medicinal_ touching, and there are no hormones allowed in medicine (really, this whole teenage libido thing is getting ridiculous. Time and place much?) She does one hand, and then the other, wiping the dried blood from Beatrice's palms and between her fingers; trying to forget with every swipe of the rag over soft skin how much worse this could have been.

No one had realized she was even wounded until the fight was over. It had been chaos; the plan fucked sideways from their first move, but Ava had been handling it. Mary and Lilith had her back, Beatrice and Camilla were running the secondary ops, and the Halo was even behaving itself; they were going to be _fine._ And then suddenly Beatrice was there between Ava and a sword (a sword she _totally_ would have countered by the way,) and it all went tits up. Camilla was left hanging, the plan in tatters, they fought their way free only for Beatrice to promptly pass out, hands clamped to her side.

Ava remembers a lot of shrieking and panicking after that (most – okay, _all_ of it hers.)

“I'm sorry,” Beatrice says, eyes downcast, shoulders bowed. “I didn't mean to worry you.”

I wasn't worried,” Ava lies, wiping the last of the blood from her wrists and getting a fresh rag before moving on to her waist.

Beatrice glances up through her lashes (unfair,) a subtle tilt to the corner of her mouth that says she knows exactly how full of shit Ava is. “My mistake.”

They fall silent while Ava finishes cleaning up the worst of the blood. She's got a fair bit of it on herself as well, but she focuses on Beatrice. It's a little awkward; seeing as neither of them are used to this level of intimacy. Ava's a shit nurse, and Beatrice tried to quietly bleed out on them once already so she's not winning any awards as a patient either. She's rigid under Ava's hands, every muscle in her back and belly taut. Ava can feel her trembling slightly where she's still leaning against her chest. She really hopes it's from pain and not shock or blood loss. She has a vague idea how to treat shock from hours and hour (and hours and hours) of television and the basic first aid course Camilla ran them all through the first week they were on the run, but she has no idea how the fuck they would manage a transfusion.

“Why'd you do it?” Ava asks, wringing out the last cloth. She keeps her eyes on the pink-tinged water trickling back into the bowl. She's not as pissed as Mary, but she's not gonna just pretend everything is fine either.

Beatrice hesitates. “I don't suppose you'd accept 'It seemed like a good idea at the time?'” she offers hopefully.

“Nope.” Ava puts the bowl on the bedside table and pulls the sheet up over Beatrice's bare shoulders. Maybe she's just cold. “Spill, or Camilla's gonna come in here, and I'll let her get it out of you with those sad eyes of hers.”

Beatrice makes a face, her scowl half lost in Ava's shirt. “And to think you used to run away from confrontation. I should never have meddled.”

“Too late to take it back now. I'm meaner than Lillith and more stubborn than Mary.”

“Hardly,” Beatrice scoffs. “Stubborn maybe, but never mean.”

Ava pokes her (gently.) “Stop trying to change the subject. You're not going to weasel your way out of this one Sister Evasiveness.”

Beatrice catches the offending finger, taking Ava's hand in hers and tucking them both under her chin. “I yield.” she pauses. “Do you remember when you first came to us? How angry and unkind everyone was?”

Ava nods, wincing at the memory. “To be fair, I was an ass back then. You were all grieving and I was goofing around.”

“You were insufferable,” Beatrice agrees. “But you had cause.”

The understatement of the year. “Is that why you were nice to me?”

“Partly. I knew we weren't going to get through to you with a stick, so I volunteered to be the carrot. Lilith and the others never understood how I could put my grief aside for the greater good, and for my part, I didn't understand why they couldn't. We all loved Shannon, but the mission went on.” She hesitates before speaking again. “I understand now.”

“Does that meant you're going to stop talking to me?” Ava jokes (it's a reflex, okay? She's working on it.)

Beatrice closes her eyes and blows a frustrated breath out through her nose.“You really are remarkably dense sometimes,” she says, “I don't know why I bother.” The words are harsh, but there's no sting to them, only a baffled fondness.

“Well if you would just _tell_ me what you mean,” Ava grumbles, “instead of parabling at me all the-”

Beatrice cuts her off with a hand over her mouth. “I love you,” she says simply. “I love you and I was afraid for you. I loved Shannon, and her death was devastating, but I could move past it. Your death-” she breaks off, tears gathering in the corners of her eyes. “I cannot imagine it, do you understand? I refuse to let it happen. While there is breath in my body, I will be your shield.”

“Oh.” _Oh?_ That was... wow. There's an extremely silly grin spreading across her face, and Ava doesn't even care. “You love me...?” she says back, awestruck and giddy with it. “Seriously?”

“For my sins, yes.”

“Huh...” Ava thinks for a minute. “Is that even allowed? I mean... with the whole nun-thing”

Beatrice shrugs, and then winces as the movement pulls at her side. “As long as I don't act on it, it's a gray area.”

“But you do want to act on it, right?” Ava really, really hopes Beatrice isn't planning on loving her nobly (and chastely) from afar. She would respect that (she _would,_ ) but she also really, really wants to (respectfully) jump her bones. Eventually. She can wait. She can be the _saint_ of patience. Is that blasphemous? Probably. Hell. She's gonna have to work on that if she's going to date a nun.

Wait.

“Does this mean you're going to keep jumping in front of swords for me?” she demands. “Because that's not cool. I've got this stupid hunk of metal in my back, I'll heal, you won't, and you're not the only one with feelings, okay? I can't do this without you either.”

“You're the Halo Bearer-”

“And you're the smartest person I've ever met,” Ava counters. “The Halo can choose a new chump to piggy back around after demons. There's won't ever be another Beatrice. This mission is fucked without you. _I'm_ fucked without you.” she pauses, frowning. “Or hopefully _with_ you. Sorry. That was too much wasn't it? I'm still a little loopy from the whole 'you love me,' thing. Why are you laughing?”

Beatrice snorts a very un-Beatrice-like snort, laughing helplessly into Ava's collar bones. “Ow... I'm sorry, It's not you, but it _is_ you _,_ and I'm utterly terrified, but also happier than I've ever been in my life, and I really hope Camilla hurries up with that pain medication because I don't want to begin this relationship by throwing up on you.” 

Camilla chooses that exact moment to open the door, pills in one hand and a cup of water in the other. Ava's like 95% sure she was listening outside the door; that smug, butter-wouldn't-melt-in-her-mouth-smile is a dead giveaway. She doesn't ask any questions, she just _grins_ at them. Mary follows on her heels and they get Beatrice bandaged up and help her into a soft shirt before setting her up with a mountain of pillows. Mary is surprisingly gentle, all signs of her earlier temper gone. She leans in close when they're done and whispers something in Beatrice's ear that makes her smile.

“Take care of her kid,” she says on her way out, hustling Camilla ahead of her and giving Ava that big-sister look she's so good at. “We'll be down the hall if you need us.”

“I guess I'm staying,” Ava says after they've left. “If that's okay, I mean.”

Beatrice nods, her dark eyes already going hazy from the pain meds. “It's very okay.”

Ava lays down carefully beside her, scooting closer when Beatrice frowns at her and tugs weakly at a handful of her shirt. She ends up with her head on Beatrice's shoulder, one arm (carefully) stretched across her waist while Beatrice strokes her hair.

“I love you too,” she whispers after they've settled. “If that wasn't clear with all the babbling...”

Beatrice's hand in her hair stills. “I can't promise we'll be normal,” she says. “I'm resigned to acting outside of my vows, but-”

“R _esigned?”_ Ava half sits up, stung.

“Resolved,” Beatrice offers instead.

“Better.” She settles back down. “And I know this is gonna be complicated. I don't need normal _._ I just need _you.”_

There's a long pause, then “you have me, for what it's worth.”

Ava swallows past the sudden lump in her throat. “I can work with that.”


End file.
